50 NEAR. FOR. T BLANCO W ITH the sun in her eyes, Mia can't see her father-in-law as he talks, but she can see the rim of his hat, which cuts into the clear blue South Texas sky like a rusted metal disk. Mr. H.-this is what Mia and her sister-in-law Nancy have al- ways called him-is a long, angular man, taller than her own father, who hadn't worn hats, and taller, at this angle, than the sun. He stops in front of Mia, and she stares as fine, gleaming desert dust rises and falls on his brown wing-tip shoes. She shades her eyes, but still she cannot make out his features, which have been worked hard lately. His mother has just died in the only hospital around for miles. The family have flown in from various parts of the country, and have been staying at her house. After seeing Mr. H. in his own vast Greenwich living room, his lofty Aspen ski house, there is something touching about seeing him-a Texan turned Wall Street banker who collects Remington bronzes-here in his moth- er's small house, in rooms with flow- ered wallpaper, and candy dishes, not sculptures, on the tabletops. Mia steps off the cracked cemetery sidewalk after her husband, Paul, and her father-in- law. The funeral is in two days, and they have come to find the grave site. Her eyes fall on a faucet, bent over dry dirt like a thirsty bird. Mr. H. looks around him. "Don't know why there are so many spigots when no one bothers to water this place. Jigaboos don't; I reck- on they figure long as they can't be buried here, why should they." He says this with no change in his voice, and Mia flinches, although she is not sure why hearing his bigotry in the place where it originated, where it is part of accepted thinking, should be more horrifying than hearing it any- where else. She says nothing, but drops behind. She wonders if they will expect her, her children, to be buried in this place. If Nancy were here, they would joke about it. Paul's brother Brian and Nancy are separating, and thinking about this makes Mia sad. "Come on," Paul says, suddenly be- side her. "I think they've found it." He takes her hand and, following him, she decides the haircut she gave him before they left Chicago isn't bad. His curly hair is the darkest color on the desert. Has he ever thought of being buried here himself? Mia pictures the ceme- tery where her father is buried, in upstate New York, which is protected by scrolled iron grills, black and tall, and a gatehouse, where someone sits. Mia wouldn't mind eating her lunch there, where caretakers keep the grass very green, and rake up the confettilike petals of whatever is in season. Or in the place where her mother is, that quaint church with walls around it, here and there huge trees shading the gravestones, in Pennsylvania. Hopping over a grave, Paul's brother reads her mind. "We'll find you a nice spot in the shade," he says, smiling. Brian stands close to Mia; he is stocky and blond, and she remembers that Nancy, wearing heels, was taller. Mr. H. points here, then there. He is trying to decide whether his uncle's gravestone has slipped to the right, and, if it has, whether it matters. His hat is off now. The family names stare up at Mia in granite. All curves and sharp edges, they sparkle. P ERHAPS because Brian knew of his parents' fondness for Nancy, he wasn't going to say anything about the breakup when he stepped off the little plane yesterday. This call was so sud- den, he explained; Nancy just couldn't pull it together to get here. "What do you mean, 'pull it togeth- er'?" his mother, Ruth, asked later, over dinner at the club. (Neither of her sons had children; what was there to pull together? ) When Brian didn't answer, Ruth continued, "Because I need to know what furniture you-all want from the house. We've got to make arrangements for-" "I'm getting a divorce," Brian said. "The last thing I need is more furni- ture. " "Brian, no!" Ruth burst out. She jammed her cigarette into the glass ashtray. Then, big-boned and proper, she placed a hand on her broad, silk- draped chest and translated, "You-all are having some problems right now, and you need to work things out." The. huge bow at her throat looked comical. "Well, if that's what you want to DECEMBER 10,1990 think." Brian shrugged. "Our lawyers have met twice, but if that's what you want to think." "I think we'll talk about this later," Mr. H. said, and ordered another whis- key. Brian continued to eat his steak even with his mother's fingers curled around his elbow, which, after she squeezed, she told him to take off the table. Later, Paul told Mia the story: Brian had been having an affair and Nancy had found out. Overcome by an image of Nancy deceived and angry, Mia could barely hear his account. "I wish I could talk to her," she said. "I mean I hope she knows she can talk to me." I N the master bedroom, Ruth an- nounces that she will throwaway all her mother-in-law's shoes. "Don't you think," she says to Mia. Mia agrees, but doesn't know why Ruth discards a full bottle of aspirin and an unopened jar of hand lotion. Emery boards still in the package, baby powder, nail scissors, all land in the wastebasket. Amber bottles she pitches after reading the prescriptions. Lip- sticks, deodorant; and then Ruth half throws, half places a nearly full bottle of Chanel No.5 in the wastebasket on top of the other things. Mia must stop herself from reaching for it. She feels no connection, really, between the old woman they visited in the hospital and all these things. Except for Ruth, no one quite knows what to do in the house. Their hostess is not there, and the men, especially, seem to be at loose ends. "Maybe I'll take the car into town," Brian says after lunch. "See if I can memorize Main Street." He is standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom. Paul is lying on the bed, and Mia is refolding clothes. She fig- ures that Mr. H. is not the kind of man who would tolerate panty hose hanging in the shower, and she stuffs a dirty pair into the pocket of her suitcase. She had not known how to pack for this trip, and since they go to the same restaurant every night-something about buying a membership, in Texas-she is run- ning out of clothes. She says, "I think your mother men- tioned going to the museum at the Fort. " "Right," Brian says. "You-all are going to the museum so I can have that